


A Floor Away

by Clericish



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apartment AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 05:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15901908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clericish/pseuds/Clericish
Summary: Ryoji just wants to get his work done.  His new upstairs neighbor has other plans.





	A Floor Away

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got off my ass and wrote this au that I've been tossing around in my head for awhile... I don't know if I want to write a continuation but for now it's just gonna be a oneshot!

Life was simple for Ryoji Mochizuki. A train ride to school, a quick walk to work, and a train ride back home to his simple apartment. A cycle of events that had become a comfortable normality; while it seemed boring at its roots, Ryoji was willing to put up with a few years of boredom if it meant he’d be well on his way to a successful career and greener pastures.

Tonight had been no exception to his usual routine; work had ended and he had been just as exhausted as every other night before. Working a receptionist job hadn’t been his first choice, but the municipal hospital credit would look good on a resume someday. Ryoji had made quick work of putting on his kettle for tea and taking a quick shower, changing out of his pristine button-up and slacks. He settled in at his small workplace desk and cracked open one of the many thick textbooks weighing down his bookbag.

His apartment itself wasn’t anything special; mostly secondhand furniture and meticulously organized belongings, but the perks of living on the seventeenth story had its own merits. The view from the large, outside windows of the large city was undoubtedly beautiful, but just as undoubtedly distracting. Ryoji had pulled the curtains closed nearly three months ago during exam time and hadn’t opened them since. But that was fine. Life was fine.

Ryoji made quick work of getting all of his homework in order, ready to crack down and hopefully finish in time to get at least six hours of sleep tonight--

The piercing sound of a screeching guitar nearly startled Ryoji out of his seat. It was blaring, and the suddenness of it caught him so off-guard he didn’t even notice his kettle was boiling and hissing in the kitchen until the water had almost evaporated from the pot. Ryoji was quick to remove it and turn off the hot plate-- no use adding the scream of the fire alarm to the cacophony of noises already piercing the air-- and immediately bristled in annoyance when he realized the music still hadn’t stopped.

It was coming from the floor upstairs, presumably directly above him, and Ryoji couldn’t for the life of him recall who had lived there. But they _certainly_ never blared music at eight at night.

It was fine, this was fine. Ryoji could work with this. He plopped back down at his desk, running a hand through his still-damp hair and gripping his pen in his hand, tapping away at the desk as he tried his best to focus on the words in his book. The song had changed now to something equally as raucous and loud, and Ryoji was gritting his teeth so hard the start of a headache was blooming in the back of his skull. A few songs later and Ryoji let his pen slip from his grip, massaging his temples and breathing in deep, trying to remember to be patient.

He came to the frank realization that things were absolutely _not_ fine after the clock struck 9:30 and he had stupidly wrapped his thick winter scarf around his head in a vain attempt to block out the noise. Not only was it unsuccessful, but he still hadn’t managed to absorb anything beyond the first few paragraphs of his reading assignment. And still the music persisted, screaming out above him like screeching tires on pavement and _enough was enough._

Ryoji threw his discarded scarf on the couch, scrambling to get his keys from his book bag and swinging the door of his apartment open, quickly shutting and locking it behind him. He would be sensible about this. He wouldn’t let his frustration bubble over, but the closer he got to the noise, each step he took up the stairs, he could feel his temper slipping. He was rarely angry, but he had things to take care of and sleep to catch and hell if he was going to let some careless idiot get in the way of it.

A climb up the stairs and a few doors down and his suspicions were confirmed; the music was even louder up here, but the source was, indeed, _directly_ above him. How the person inside the residency could stand having such loud noise funnelling directly from their speakers when Ryoji could barely stand it and entire floor down was a mystery, but Ryoji didn’t care much to find out. He knocked on the door, shuffling on his feet nervously. He was typically good with talking to people-- had a knack for it, even-- but the moment tensions were high he practically dissolved into a nervous wreck. He knocked yet again, with more force than last time.

”Excuse me, I need you to turn down the music so I can get some work done, so if you could _please_ turn that down and come out here--”

The door swung open and Ryoji’s heart immediately leapt to his throat. Standing in the doorway was the slender frame of a boy-- not much older than him, presumably-- and he was without a doubt the most beautiful boy he had ever seen.

The first thing that had caught Ryoji’s attention was his eyes-- a steely blue that caught the dim hallway lighting with the same vivacity as sunshine. His hair was a deep midnight blue that hung in his eyes, framing the soft slopes of his cheeks and just barely tickling the nape of his neck. His slender body was hidden in a soft-looking sweater, sleeves just barely brushing the other boy’s knuckles. His expression was indistinguishable, but the way he nonchalantly leaned against the doorframe was a pretty decent indication that he didn’t have any sense of urgency upon discovering a stranger at his door.

”Can I help you?” Ryoji felt weak in the knees just hearing the boy’s soft, smooth voice only barely overpowering the loud music echoing into the hallway.

”Uh… Yeah,” Ryoji began, suddenly self-conscious of his lazy outfit and lack of shoes. He nervously pushed some of his hair back behind his ear, wishing he had waited to shower until he went to bed. But then he probably wouldn’t have smelled as nice. It wouldn’t have been hard to run gel back through his hair, a second shower wouldn’t have been too bad. He should have brushed his teeth too, just to make sure he didn’t have bad breath--

”Yeah?” The boy quirked an eyebrow and Ryoji felt like he had been punched. That was cute. Oh, _God._

”Yeah, I was… I live downstairs, and I heard,” Ryoji made a noncommittal gesture into the doorway, “That.”

”Oh, the music.” The boy paused, but made no move to turn it down. “Is it loud?”

”A little,” Ryoji lied easily, “But I mean, it’s cool! It’s cool music.”

The stranger’s brows shot up, surprised. “Do you like this kind of music?”

”I-I mean, sure--”

”Sure?”

”I can’t say I listen to this genre much, but…”

”I see,” the boy seemed almost disappointed, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not everyone’s thing.”

”I-I mean, I’d really like to listen to more,” Ryoji amended, dishonestly, “I just don’t know where to start.”

”Well, I could show you if you want.” The midnight-haired boy turned on his heel and took a step back into the apartment, beckoning Ryoji after him with a nod of his head.

Ryoji’s heart was hammering so hard in his chest he was sure it was going to break a rib. He had come up here to tell him to turn the music down and instead he had lied about his music preference and only encouraged him further. He had to stop this right now, tell this stranger to turn the volume down, and get back to work like he had intended.

”Okay,” Ryoji said.

_This is the opposite of what he wanted._

Ryoji followed after the stranger, stepping into the booming apartment and trying hard to keep his composure. The apartment was surprisingly neat for having just been moved into; rows and rows of books were carefully organized on the shelves, as well as a number of knick-knacks. Band posters hung up on every wall, ranging from loud, vivacious patterns and colors to grunge, black-and-white simplistic ones. Not a single name on the posters were recognizable. Ryoji wasn’t the most well-versed in music, but it was surprising that he quite genuinely couldn’t recall a single name. Or maybe it was because his brain was dead on account of being in a strange, cute boy’s apartment while indie rock played at an ear-splitting volume.

”You can sit,” the boy was barely audible above the music, but Ryoji obeyed and settled himself down on the plush-looking couch. He watched as the stranger picked up a small remote from the coffee table and pressed a button. There was a brief pause of silence, then another song burst through the speakers. It was more uptempo than the last one-- more bass and drums, the vocalist screeching like a banshee.

”What do you think of this?” the boy asked, flopping down on the couch next to Ryoji who was, admittedly, so tense that he felt like his entire body was going to snap in half. His neighbor was in an uncomfortably close proximity right off the bat-- he couldn’t have been more than four inches away, leaning his head back against the couch and letting his dark hair flair out on the song surface. Ryoji was more than a little captivated.

”It’s, uh… I mean, it’s angry--”

”Angry?” The boy questioned, and Ryoji could swear he could see a hint of a smile pull at the corner of his lips. “I’d say the opposite. It’s intense. Sounds like a cry for help.”

Ryoji flushed, embarrassed, and fiddled with his hands. “Why does he need help?”

”Hard to say with a metaphorical vocalist,” the boy shrugged, “Everyone needs help with something.”

Ryoji had never been more lost in his entire life but as the song flipped from one to the other, it felt like his heart was slowly igniting in flames deep in his chest. The strange boy had long since let his eyes slip shut, simply tapping his fingers on his knee along to the beat. He had beautiful hands. His skin looked so soft, just on the right side of tan, nails painted an opaque black; Ryoji wanted to hold them something bad. Was it improper to want to hold his hand? They had only just met, after all, and he didn’t even know his--

”My name’s Minato, by the way,” the boy spoke up as if he had read his mind, sitting up again on the couch, perfect hand moving to settle comfortably on the cushion between the two of them. Fuck, that was an opportunity if Ryoji had ever seen one. That would be weird. Minato was a little weird, he supposed. Maybe that would be fine.

”Ryoji,” the boy managed, a little too loudly, jutting his hand out in an offer to shake. Minato quirked a brow, but shook his hand nonetheless. Ryoji was suddenly aware of how sweaty his hands probably were by this point and internally slapped himself for not wiping them off on his pants first. Wow, what a mess.

”So… Why did you move here?” Ryoji asked, desperate to make some kind of conversation to distract from the fact that he knew nothing about music.

”I grew up in this city, actually,” Minato replied, “Just moved out of a friend’s house. My sister moved in to a complex down the street with her boyfriend. This place was cheaper.”

Ryoji nodded in understanding-- price points in a bustling city certainly wasn’t cheap. “Well, I hope you’re settling in well. If you ever need anything, I’m just downstairs in 407.”

”I’ll remember that,” Minato said, smiling just the tiniest bit like he had before when he was talking about his music. Ryoji couldn’t stop the heat that rose to his face; how could this boy make him flustered so easily? They couldn’t have been talking for more than twenty minutes and yet--

Wait… How long had Ryoji been here?

Ryoji fished his phone out of his pocket and turned on the screen, nearly dropping it when he realized it had just passed 11pm. He had been here for over _an hour and a half_ listening to music and gawking over some boy.

”Oh, shit,” Ryoji mumbled, rubbing at his eyes and standing from his spot next to Minato, as reluctant as he was. “I have homework to do, I didn’t even realize how late it was.”

”Homework?” Minato asked, “What kind of homework?”

”Physiology. I’m working on getting into a nursing program,” Ryoji said in a rush, suddenly anxious to return downstairs. “I’m sorry to have to barge out like this.”

”No worries,” Minato shrugged, rising to join the other boy, “You’re always a floor away, after all. I’ll walk you out."

Ryoji nodded, smiling a little to himself at the thought. Minato seemed to like his company, if he had made that point. Or maybe he was overthinking it; maybe Minato was just being polite.

”Hey,” Minato started as Ryoji stepped out the door, leaning once again in the doorway like he had been when Ryoji first met him, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll turn down my music if you give me another visit sometime.” The blue-haired boy looked up at him from beneath his lashes, a different smile tugging at his lips; it was devilish. _Holy shit, is this really happening--_

”Y-Yeah,” Ryoji stumbled, scratching at the back of his head. “Sure, if you want that--”

”I do,” Minato said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now go do your homework. See you soon, Ryoji.”

And with that, Minato turned on his heel and shut the door, leaving Ryoji to stare dumbly at the door, trying to assess whether or not that had actually happened or if he was still waiting on his new neighbor to answer his knocking. The music behind the door began to dim, however, which was solid proof.

Ryoji smiled to himself; maybe he could get used to the music.


End file.
